The Edge of Forever
by rexmanningdays
Summary: Mark and Roger live in the city. So does April. Wee. [RogerApril MarkRoger MarkApril]
1. Take This Longing

**Warnings**: This chapter is pretty damn tame.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own RENT.

**Notes**: First chaptered story. Bonus points to anyone who can find the 'Empire Records' reference in this chapter. The title of the story comes from a Dream Academy song from the Ferris Bueller soundtrack. The chapter title comes from the Leonard Cohen song. This is dedicated to Jade and crazy amounts of love to Carrie for beta-ing for me.

* * *

Roger had always been a 'stop and smell the roses' kind of kid. In the summertime, no shell on the beach was left uninspected, no firefly escaped his Mason jar, and every neighbor's sprinkler had to be run through at least once. Growing up on Long Island, summer to Roger meant the smell of the ocean as it wafts through the air, the sound of baseball games floating over the trees from the nearby park, and the overabundance of stars that can only be truly admired while lying in a tent in your backyard with your best friend at your side.

April was what you might call an "indoor person". She buried her nose in books, watched 'The Price is Right' with her grandmother and snuck out of her room late at night to listen to her father's records through giant headphones in the den. She must have looked quite silly, a tiny child with teeth too big for her face sitting cross-legged in the corner, eyes closed and swaying with the music. To her, summer was a time when she could drift away and beckon forth a life in the distant future when things would be different for her and she wouldn't have to work so damn hard to feel okay.

* * *

Roger is used to getting what he wants. All it usually takes is his trademark grin, a quick touch to the arm combined with the lowering of his voice and most people fall in line...and in love. He doesn't even feel guilty about it anymore, you do what you have to do to survive and make it in New York. Four years in the city will make anyone jaded and able to manipulate others with ease. Well, almost anyone. It boggles Roger's mind that Mark has been here for almost as long as he has, and not only does he still see the good in the ugly but he sees charm and possibility in their decaying urban wasteland.

Both boys grew up in the shadow of the city all their lives, finding something here that captured them and refused to let go. Many who come to New York claim that this is the place for them. They think they'll hit it big because they have to. There is no other choice but this and they come with their nice luggage searching for their new direction. They repress the urge to toss their hat in the air, because damnit, they are going to make it after all!

Roger ran to the city as soon as he got the chance. He knew exactly what he was getting himself into. He had friends who attended school downtown and he slept on the floor of their cramped studio apartments. He drank with them in dingy piece of shit dive bars on the Bowery and if he didn't have work the next day, he would walk around the city until dawn. He knew that a throb in his back and a killer hangover came with the territory. He never felt as alive as he did after a show in one of those disgusting little clubs where the music was not as important as the energy. The cool air would hit him and he would walk till his body ached, finally falling onto his seat on the last late night train home. But as much as Roger pretended to be apathetic and aloof, he still hoped for a chance of feeling like a New York newcomer. He craved something that would break his hardened stare and cause his mouth to fall agape. He knew about the dirt...he was looking for the beauty.

Mark came to the city with big ideas and an even wider set of eyes. The New York he had seen in the past had been the idyllic movie location where Santas were jolly, store windows were decorated, and the air smelled of chestnuts. Mark was brought up Jewish, but his mother loved the city during Christmas time, and always bundled him up nice and tight in a new outfit, smoothed out his calicky hair, and pulled him by the arm to Rockefeller Center to go ice skating and to marvel at the tree. Being surrounded by the bustle of tourists who were so alive and excited to be there combined with the sheer grandeur of the tree made Mark's eyes practically bug out of his head and his heart race. But after dropping out of college with his sights set on the city, Mark aimed to discover truth and to see life how it was being lived in that moment. He knew about the grandeur...he wanted to find the grime.

Because of this, even after a day of being told that 'You can't film here without a permit!' and 'It's illegal to staple flyers to telephone poles!', Mark felt no less accomplished because he was seeing the city up close and Roger couldn't deny that a day walking around the city with his best friend wasn't exactly a waste of time.

* * *

After their long day of getting nowhere but still closer to something, the boys turn the corner onto Thompson St. and almost immediately Mark can practically feel Roger jumping up and down behind him. Shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around slowly, Mark looks up into his best friend's excited face before laughing under his breath and smiling right back.

"Now why would you want to go to the record store, Roger? Is it the great selection for low low prices...or the cashier with the quote-unquote 'killer legs'?" Mark drawls the last few words, recalling Roger's stoned admission of an entirely unhealthy obsession with wanting to nail the shop girl. He receives a shove to the shoulder as Roger brushes past him, throwing an obscene gesture over his shoulder before jogging down the street to the store.

When Mark finally catches up with him, he sees Roger flipping through racks of cds very intensely while trying to discreetly flick his gaze back to the girl at the counter. The girl seems to be completely uninterested in her job or Roger or both and has her nose pushed deep inside a music magazine. She glances up for a moment when she notices that the music blaring over the store's speakers is skipping before returning to her magazine.

Mark spends the better part of five minutes watching Roger trying to stare at the girl but avoiding eye contact and listening to the same incessant beat nailing into his head. Finally, abandoning all tact his mother has tried to instill in him, Mark walks to the counter, slams his hand over her magazine before turning on his best shit-eating grin. He addresses the girl who from this angle is nothing more than a freckled nose and a cheap dye job. He glances over to Roger who has a look of pure surprise and is frantically waving his arms trying to get Mark to back away. He plays off his flailing as stretching when the cashier girl finally looks up.

"Yeah? Do you need something?" The girl questions in a honey coated piece of sandpaper kind of way. Before Mark can answer, the phone rings and the girl holds up a finger before spinning around in her chair and reaching for the receiver.

"Generation Records open till one, this is April." At this Mark turns around and mouths her name back to Roger, who nods, fixes his hair and finally walks up next to him, putting on his hopefully most disarming grin.

"One!" April yells before slamming the receiver down and looking back up to the boys. She is caught in Roger's hold for a few moments and Mark is perpetually surprised at how quickly his best friend manages to move from a shy little boy to a confidently sexy musician. Being on the receiving end of that smoky but steady gaze is firmly etched to his memory and Mark is surprised that April is still standing. April stares right back, twisting her own lips up into a wicked grin before rolling her eyes and turning back to Mark. She gives him the same look but without the mocking eye roll and Mark hears a gasp behind him as Roger practically gets the wind knocked out of him.

"You okay, Roger? Air go down the wrong tube? That sucks when that happens, and you're like coughing like a freak and your science teacher is just staring at you and you can't stop hacking and---" April clears her throat, leaning over to tap Mark on the shoulder before repeating her earlier question.

"Do you need something? A glass of water, maybe?" Pouting her lips, she coos condescendingly at Roger, aiming to make him feel like a child. April lets her fingers linger on Mark's t shirt before finally moving to change the song over the speakers. She puts on some early Johnny Cash and Mark thinks he may just have to reevaluate his earlier assessment of this music dork in rock and roll clothing.

After regaining his bearings and returning the look of cocky charm to his face, Roger leans against the counter, grazing his arm against April's attempting to deepen his voice enough to make up for his earlier prepubescent girl moment.

"Hey, so I was wondering-----"

"No."

"But you don't even know what I'm going to ask."

"If I know how to solve nuclear fission? If I can calculate the square root of 560? Or quite possibly, you wanted to know how long it would take to get me back to your apartment or at the very least the bathroom of a club so you can enable your little rock star fantasy?"

Mark turns his head to stifle the laugh into his shoulder before looking up to see Roger glaring at him again, though a blush is covering his cheeks and making its way down his neck. Trying to not completely crush his best friends bravado (knowing full well he is going to have to deal with a pouty Roger for a week if this girl kept up) he quickly places a gentle hand over April's, filling her in on Roger's show that weekend and that they were just wondering if they could put some flyers up in the store.

Muttering a quick thanks and handing the flyers over to April, Mark pulls his best friend out the door like a child or a puppy and is surprised that Roger lets himself be led down the nearly abandoned street behind him.

* * *

Roger likes to give off the impression that he is able to breeze through crowds. Long, powerful limbs push him forward so quickly that even his natural swagger doesn't detract from his confident stride. That is the kind of walk most native New Yorkers have bred into them, and tourists are unable to keep up with. People don't stop to apologize in the city, they bump into you, they keep going. Hell, it's part of the charm.

Despite this, every morning for the next few days, Roger fails at his attempts at stealthiness as he shuffles across his and Mark's room trying to slip out undetected. Mark thinks it's cute and pretends to go right on sleeping, smiling to himself as he hears Roger inevitably stub his toe or fall down trying to pull his pants up, letting a curse escape his lips before he can stop it. He doesn't know where Roger goes, but he comes back within a couple hours with a big smile on his face and an expression that could only be described as dazed.

After a few days Mark feels his curiosity get the best of him and waits till Roger is halfway down the stairs before gingerly shuffling after him. It's easy to stay hidden in the mess of people filling the sidewalk and Mark has always been good at making himself disappear. He has a pretty good guess where his best friend is headed and when Roger looks over his shoulder for a moment Mark sees a look of shy apprehension crossing his features. Mark quickly looks down hoping that the game isn't over yet, but when he looks up again, he sees that Roger is turning onto Thompson and crossing the street slowly and carefully. He lands in front of the record store window peering in like a child in front of a pet store.

Roger stays in front of the window for a good fifteen minutes before turning around and retreating with that same look Mark has come to see over breakfast the last couple days. As Roger turns the corner and disappears from sight, Mark lets out a chuckle, shaking his head and crossing the street to enter the record store. Sure enough, April is at the counter bopping along to the music and polishing her nails. Without his best friend's nervous gaping behind him and with a nice beat flowing through the speakers, Mark is able to finally get a good look at the girl who is able to knock Roger off his pedestal and put that look in his eyes.

She seems familiar but not in the way that Mark wonders if he actually knows her from home, but in the way that she is able to capture THAT girl and embody it fully. Everyone knows a girl like that, the girl who spent her high school years smoking in the bathroom, making out with hairy guys on motorcycles and smearing so much gunky black shit on her eyes it made you wonder what she was trying to hide from.

This isn't exactly new to Mark, as the East Village is full of girls who want you to believe that they will be your own personal Joan Jett, ready to be the Nancy to your Sid and trying to be THAT girl. Their eyes silently plead with you to take them seriously, to buy into their act, to ignore the way their practiced lines and "sassy" comebacks sound like they are stolen from a punk rock song. These are the girls who pretend they aren't groupies and fancy themselves muses to the band. They want to have songs written about them, they want hardened rocker boys to fall at their feet and beg for more of them. They ache to be able to give the middle finger and a surly "back off he's mine" to other girls before turning back and kissing him hard, grabbing his crotch roughly and leading him back to his apartment with a wicked grin on her face. He bought it. They bought it. She's that girl.

Mark wanders downstairs to the used records, fingers tracing lightly over the scratched cases, picking a few out, and bounding up the stairwell covered in band stickers and flyers before smiling when he notices Roger's stuck on top. When he reaches the counter, April looks up and smiles at him before looking down at his selection and raising an eyebrow. Mark merely shrugs and leans his elbow on the counter, waiting for her to ring him up and giving her his best goofy but knowing grin. She spins around in her chair to turn the music down a bit, before focusing her somewhat scattered attention on Mark.

"Hey. April, right?" She nods before looking at him a little more carefully, letting a small smile escape from her usual cheeky grin. Mark takes this as a good sign, continuing forward, maintaining gentle eye contact.

"You doing anything special tonight? You should totally come to the show. It should be a lot of fun, my roommate...Roger... well his band is pretty damn good and if nothing else you have my permission to knock down his rock star ego a bit more." Mark grins a lazy smile when he hears April laugh quietly under her breath, before nodding softly.

"I'll think about it. Thanks." April hands him his bag with a wink, tapping twice on the counter before turning the music back up.

Mark buys it. Roger buys it. She's that girl.


	2. You Come In Burned

**Warnings**: This chapter is still pretty damn tame.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own RENT.

**Notes**: The title of the story comes from a Dream Academy song from the Ferris Bueller soundtrack. Chapter title is from a Dandy Warhol's song.

* * *

On her way home April attempts to turn her tired trudge into a confident strut, at least until she can push past the crowds of people flooding the streets, long enough to make it beyond the bums that are hunched against walls looking for a handout. For as long as she has been in the city, the sight of a man in a crumpled old trench coat shilling free newspapers for a price never fails to give her a tickle in her gut. April knows that when all is lost is the time when you can't be restricted. Knowing that these people have nothing left to lose makes her more than a little paranoid. Pulling her sweater tighter around her shoulders, she breezes past in silence as a man attempts to charm her into filling his empty cup.

April doesn't think she is better than them. She knows that these people just had a few more rough breaks than she did and they just didn't make it through in one piece. She wants to believe that. She doesn't want to believe that bad things only happen to bad people. She's lost too many people in her life to believe that. She's seen far too much to agree with it. New York chews you up and spits you out, no questions asked. This is what causes April to raise her chin and ignore the calls behind her.

Upon seeing the familiar purple flag flying over her head, April lets out the same sigh of relief she has let out every day since coming here. Feeling as if she is a marionette on strings she climbs the stairs in a fog, legs feeling so heavy that she doesn't know what guided her to the top. Reaching into her bag, she fumbles around looking for her key, turning over books and packs of gum, and the same damn tube of lip gloss, and coming up empty.

Suddenly the door swings open and she is being grabbed by the arm and pulled into the room. Rachel is talking a mile a minute, changing her shirt frantically, and alternately patting and fluffing her hair. April manages to make out a few words through her roommates ridiculously hurried but natural speech and she can't believe that she is able to decode it at all. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, April crosses her arms over her lap and ties her shoulder length hair into a small ponytail. Predictably, the rant winds down to Rachel with her hands on her hips and a high pitched cry of "I'm right, right April?" Pursing her lips, she crosses the room to place her hands on Rachel's shoulders, pulling her roommate against her and enveloping her in a loose hug. When Rachel's breathing has died down and the shaking has stopped, April moves to the fridge, flipping open a soda before looking back up to her roommate.

Rachel collapses on her bed dramatically for a minute before propping herself up on her elbows and giving April a confused look. "So wait, where did we land on that issue, I'm right, right?"

It's times like these that April is glad that she is such a world class, record setting bullshitter. Living with Rachel this past year has been filled with such teenage turmoil that April has honed her ability to placate her in no less than 3 minutes. Knowing exactly what is needed to be said and being able to fake such empathy for a whiny roommate is a skill that is necessary for any remotely sarcastic girl stuck with a fluffy pink nightmare.

A knock on the door causes a squeal to her left and a final check in the mirror. April watches her roommate try to be alluring, squirming and trying to perfect a cutesy peek-a-boo smile over her shoulder. Laughing a bit too caustically under her breath, April opens the door to find the lamest possible mix of a Long Island guido and a frat boy standing before her. She tries to stifle the chuckle tickling up her throat at the sheer gaudiness of the fake chains hanging around his overtanned greasy neck. Beckoning Rachel in a sing song tone, she attempts to appear playful and not completely condescending. She doesn't want to have to worry about a rabid band of lacrosse players banging on her door for the next few months, drunk off their asses, ironically catcalling her and asking for the "Wicked Bitch of the West". This is what causes her to put on her perma-grin and lightly flip her wrist, practically presenting her roommate for his cheesy consumption. With one last shy look back, Rachel is off and April is free to curl up on the couch, nurse her brand spanking new headache, and fall into a quiet evening of Bewitched reruns on Nick at Night.

After a few hours of Samantha's wacky hijinxs and Darren's rubber faced expressions, April pushes her blanket away, shaking out her hair and wandering to her desk, plopping down clumsily. Flipping through her open textbook, a neon flash of green catches her eye before being flattened in the pages again. Leafing backwards softly, she stops when she sees the bright paper clash against the muted background, opening it slowly and smiling to herself.

The flyer was obviously homemade and the text is so jagged that it almost resembles a ransom note. There is a scratchy looking photo in the center with a group of manboys leaning against a wall in a trite attempt to look surly and pouty. She recognizes the boy with the cigarette dangling from his lips as the one from the record store. He's definitely the best looking in his band, and it's no wonder he was chosen to be the focus of the flyer. Even with him, they are just another band struggling to gain attention in a city full of people doing the same exact thing.

Roger wouldn't have crossed her mind twice if it wasn't for his roommate. Guys like Roger don't usually hang out with boys like that. Roger was gorgeous, even April wouldn't refute that, but as soon as the first waft of hubris drifted past his lips, she couldn't stop herself from trying to break him down. People like Roger were used to coasting on their looks and manipulating everyone around him. April had known guys like that, occasionally on her weaker days she even gave in to it. But the next morning, even after a shower, even when she didn't have anywhere to go, she still felt like the girl who shows up to work in yesterday's clothes with makeup smeared over her features, wearing a look of shame. April resented people like Roger, she judged them easily and picked at them when she knew she had them hooked. She liked turning them down and watching as their bravado caved for even a brief moment before setting their sights on a random skank across the bar.

This is where Roger and his kind split that day in the record store. This is what makes Roger a little more interesting. This is what causes her to shed her warm pajamas and well worn grandma slippers in place of ripped leggings and clunky boots. Heavily lining her eyes and smearing it into place with her index finger, she gives a shake of her hair, reaching for her jacket and throwing open the door.

A scribbled invitation graces her message board, and she recognizes the chicken scratch as Jay's from downstairs. His girlfriend throws wicked parties at her apartment uptown and she has a seemingly never ending supply of alcohol and killer weed. The sound of lips smacking and clothes rustling kicks her out of her daze and she turns her head quickly to take in the sight of a giggling Rachel pushed against the wall by her cheap bastard boyfriend. They stumble together through the still open door and kick it with their foot, slamming it forcefully.

_Yeah, April will definitely be going to that party later. _

_

* * *

_

Friday nights in New York are always absolutely insane. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for all the commuters from the outskirts who don't know where they're going, what they're doing, or how to not act like such a fucking tourist. Years ago, this was Mark. He knows he shouldn't be so damn elitist after only four years, when natives could put him in his place in a second, but watching teenagers in their Gap jeans ripped to all hell, trying to replicate honesty...well at the very least it earns a roll of the eyes and a quick "What the hell?" to Roger.

Mark knows that he should be happy that his best friend is able to sell out a club. But he also knows that Roger wishes he could have the respect of his peers, instead of the undeserved admiration of a group of screeching girls from Bayshore High School.

Hoping to get some shots that Roger promises will be gold when they make it big, Mark lightly plops down at a table almost directly in the center near the back of the crowd. He intensely searches the crowd, stopping for a moment when a cute brunette gives him the eye and a flash of a smile that explodes. Losing her quickly to the building mob, he looks back one last time for April before turning to the stage as the band begins setting up their equipment. A grin crosses his face as he waves clumsily at Roger, who in turn matches it and gives him a wink. Mark hears a collective sigh being let out, followed quickly by a round of giggles that sound like a group of crazy chickens.

Mark hasn't told Roger about his undercover mission earlier that day, he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Mark hates seeing Roger crushed and from the tiny bit he has seen of his best friend when he is within 30 feet of April...well that is an emotion likely to be repeated. In the past few years of knowing him, Mark has only seen tiny hints of this brand of Roger. It took him months to work up to that kind of overt affection from the rock star, but April manages to turn him into a stuttering child craving an almost innocent relationship within moments.

Mark can definitely see where the attraction lies, she has a quality that makes you want to get to know her and investigate every aspect of her personality after a few short words, some unbroken eye contact and the change of a record. April is a mystery, seemingly an anomaly in a city that is filled to the brim with beautifully dangerous women.

As the lights lower, he switches his camera on, and attempts to capture more than the multitude of screaming fans in attendance and focus on what he knows. On what he knows matters. At least, on what he knows matters to him.

About halfway through the set, Mark feels two hands gently press down on his shoulders from behind, and he whips around to find April smiling wide, allowing dimples to embed themselves in her cheeks. Standing up, he politely offers her a chair, before asking if she wants a drink. As Mark scurries off to get her a rum and coke, April lifts herself onto the chair, looking around aimlessly for a moment, before casting a glance to the stage. Roger is silhouetted and glowing, all sweat and bravado. Pouty lips push out the words as fast as he can while still attempting a breezy rhythm that aims to make his practiced demeanor seem effortless. She fixes him with a knowing stare that she is sure will be reciprocated with a typical feral rock star smirk, but is surprised to see him smile almost demurely, looking down for a moment before recapturing his bombastic swagger.

The crowd practically spits Mark back to the table, and April can't help but laugh when she sees him clutching their drinks to his chest protectively, before glaring back for a moment, landing heavily in his chair. She throws back half the glass, glancing at Mark who is lightly sipping his beer, surprised that such a small girl could probably give Collins a run for his money in a drinking contest. Aiming to raise her voice over the din of the people clamoring for more of Roger, April remembers she still doesn't know his roommate's name, and she can't help but laugh, knowing he is a huge reason she is even out tonight. He looks embarrassed for a second, blushing slightly, before extending his hand and sputtering out a simple "I'm Mark." Nodding lightly, she turns back in her chair just in time to catch Roger grinning flirtatiously in their direction. She doesn't catch Mark's similar smile or the twinkle that lights up both their eyes. She just sways along to the music, feeling better than okay.

* * *

Mark and April finish off their drinks, waiting until the crowd clears before heading to the back of the club. At the end of a long hallway, Mark flashes a pass, entering a small room where most of the band is packing up and heading out the back door with their various conquests for the night lazily draped across their chests. Roger reminds him of Tinkerbell, nothing but a bright flash of light bouncing off the walls before slamming into Mark's chest and hugging him fiercely. Nuzzling into his neck, Mark pulls out of the hug and holds Roger at arm's length before wrapping his other arm around April's waist and tugging her close. Standing up a bit straighter, she raises an eyebrow and fixes Roger with the same look as earlier, managing to get a similarly chaste but dazed expression out of the man in front of her.

The air in the room is stifling, and she watches as an obviously inebriated groupie stumbles out of the bathroom, followed quickly by a man with a face so smarmy, April feels itchy just looking at him. Turning back to Mark and Roger, she finds them silently speaking to each other hurriedly for a second, before they feel her eyes on them, and look up shyly. Roger keeps his eyes on his shoes, Mark merely shrugs and asks if she wants to get something to eat down the street. April nods a little too quickly for someone who is trying to keep up at least a hint of mystique, but she hasn't eaten all day, and her stomach would have answered just as promptly.

Roger races to the door, with April and Mark trailing behind him, still entangled. Out of his periphery, Mark catches Roger periodically checking over his shoulder to make sure they were still following, before flicking his gaze to April quickly, keeping his head down to hide the flush.

_Mark can't wait to watch this play out. _


End file.
